


Teenage Love Affair

by amirmitchell



Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: F/M, all my tumblr drabbles in one place amazing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-06-09 13:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6908833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amirmitchell/pseuds/amirmitchell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of all my prompts from tumblr/friends</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID:  
> what I need- vet lucas doing his usual routine checkups when all of a sudden this blonde woman bursts through his office door carrying a fish bowl with a Swedish Fish candy in it and being like ’so I accidentally flushed my four year old son’s fish down the toilet and I was kinda hoping that you could work your animal doctor magic and help me convince my son that he's still alive. if not then you’ll be in charge of officiating the funeral. do you really want a fish funeral on your conscience?'

Lucas is trained for a lot of things. He’s taken kidneys from dying chihuahuas, birthed baby horses on farm calls, even performed brain surgery under the wing of one of the best veterinarians in the world- yet no matter how much experience he’s had, there was nothing that could prepare him for a frantic blonde running towards him, snatching him by the collar after noting his white lab coat and badge.

“A vet? You’re a vet?” she asks him quickly, managing to get a nod in response. “Okay, look, here’s the deal: I accidentally killed my son’s fish when I was cleaning the bowl and she went down the drain, and I need you to work your vet animal doctor magic and convince him that she’s alive. In exactly one minute and fourteen seconds, I am going to re-enter with him from the bathroom absolutely hysterical, and I need this to be believable. I don’t care whose fish you gotta take, but there needs to be one swimming in here by the time we walk out, capiche?”

Lucas gulps, her intimidating stare knocking him down a peg even though he towered over her in height. “I-uh. Yeah?”

A grateful grin broke out, spreading a flushed look to her face as she lets out a deep sigh. He couldn’t help but smirk at her, wondering how much thought she had to put into her plan to get it out in a single breath.

He stood at the counter, waiting as he watches her pad towards the bathroom before almost immediately returning, the bowl she had been carrying now in the hands of a tiny boy, tears welling in his eyes.

“A doctor!” The woman wails, her hand draping over her heart, “We need a doctor!”

He holds back a chuckle, raising his hand as if he’s surprised, “I’m a doctor!”

“Oh, doctor,” her son gasps, “I need you to fix my goldfish, Chelsea! She’s refusing to swim! She can’t eat! I need you to fix her _please_!”

Lucas puts on a serious expression, his hands wrapping around the glass container before raising it so he can investigate.

It isn’t until now that he realizes what is actually floating in the bowl; a fucking Swedish Fish. A bright red Swedish Fish is staring back at him. He went through _years_ of medical training to diagnose and replace a floating piece of candy. He has degrees in veterinary medicine, and he’s looking at a _Swedish Fish_.

He raises his gaze to notice the boy’s mother now glaring at him, the gap in conversation making her son anxiously step in place.

“Hm,” he clears his throat, removing one hand to tap on his chin. “Let me see what I can do.”

He leads them towards the waiting room, promising to return shortly with one healthy Chelsea. He freezes as he watches the child glance at his mother. “Mommy, can I please speak to the doctor alone? This is a tough time for me- as a parent. I’d like to be in the room during the operation.”

She immediately finds Lucas’s eyes, a soft nod leading her to allowing permission. “I- um.. yeah?” Color drains from her cheeks as her son rises from his seat and walks to Lucas glumly. He could tell that she was panicking, knowing that if the young boy stared at the bowl enough he would notice the treat in the water.

“We’ll be back, and if there’s anything too major to do that is just far too serious to have a parent in the room with the patient, I’ll send him right out,” Lucas winks, the smile from before softly returning on her lips as he links hands with the younger client and enters an examination room.

“Okay, look,” the boy deadpans, his solemn expression falling entirely, “Chelsea is dead and there’s a Swedish Fish from my lunch yesterday in that bowl, and we both know it. But my mom out there? She’s really torn up about this so I’m gonna need you to work out something here, doc.” He reaches into his back pocket, tugging out ten bucks. “This is an entire week’s allowance,” he informs the vet, passing over a five dollar bill. “I need you to get us another fish. Chelsea was all gold, a little darker around the tail. I’ll distract my mom while you work out the rest of the details- _oh, what the heck!_ ” He hands Lucas the rest of his money. “For your good deeds. Buy yourself something pretty.” He pats down the cash into his palm, nodding softly.

Lucas can’t help but gain a smile at the scene, completely blown away by this family. “Thanks,” he says slowly, eyeing the money in his grip. He would definitely sneak it back to his parent at some point before they leave the office, but the gesture was sweet.

“No, thank _you_ ,” the boy grins back, one that made Lucas had seen only minutes ago in the waiting room. He watches the kid slump his shoulders, mustering out a soft sniffle as he shuffles to the door.

“I’ll tell her that this got a little too much for me, seeing her with all that equipment. You have about an episode of SpongeBob at most, so don’t take your time, Dr…”

“Friar,” Lucas finishes.

“Right, Dr. Friar.”

He stands dumbfounded as his company leaves the room, the sound of his soft cries towards his parent hardly audible through the thick wood.

“ _Degrees_ ,” he mutters to himself with an undeniable grin, scooping out the gummy and tossing it into the trash before beginning to replace the water in the bowl so that he could go sneak a goldfish into it from the tiny aquarium in his office. “I have _degrees_ for this job.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID:  
> hey I love your writing and read this quote that just screamed future lucaya to me. I was wondering if you could write a one shot/fic based on it? the quote was "you scare me" he said "why?" she asked "because I tell you things I can't even tell myself." thanks!!

His hands balled into fists, he slides down against the wall of his hallway. His body is vibrating with the anxiety rushing through his veins as his mind flashes with thoughts of his father, thoughts of his home, thoughts of his anger.

He’d had an episode- that’s what his therapist calls them; the periods when his temper gets the best of him- and he wasn’t sure why he’d erupted. The guilt that follows the fits is always worse when that’s the case. 

He smashes things, slams holes into walls, destructs anything he can so that he can rid of it, so he can ease the insufferable ache deep in his bones when his mind goes dark. He finds things to shatter against the tile, anything superficial so that the feeling can be gone- it _needs_ to be gone before she gets home because if she comes home, he doesn’t know what he would do.

He doesn’t know what he _could_ do.

And so he gets it all out. He screams and obliterates and rips his home apart at the seams and nothing really catches up to his mind until he sees the spiderweb fractures distorting their wedding photo from the floor beside their couch. There’s blood dripping into the cracks in the grass from from his hands- he’s not exactly sure from where particularly- and his pulse skips because he needs to bandage it up before she gets back. He needs to fix this all before she gets back.

He makes it about a third into the corridor before it begins.

A shaky breath escapes his lips as he settles to the ground, the click of the lock on his front door making the pace of his heart speed even faster.

She lets out a gasp, one almost so faint that he can’t hear it through the pounding of his pulse ringing in his ears, and he notices the soft thump of her things falling to the ground before she closes off the entrance of their home. He tries to sync his sporadic breaths with the jingling of her keys when she rushes over to him, a soft frown on her features when she gets close enough to notice his state. His nails dig into his palms when he locks his eyes to the ground, trying to avoid her even though it’s nearly impossible.

“Oh, Lucas,” she mutters, dropping to her knees so she can wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him close. He caves to her touch, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he holds onto her.

It takes him only ten seconds to start to sob. (His record was seventeen.)

She has to time his attacks. She marks them down for his counselor to see, the stopwatch on her phone running as she strokes his hair and presses her lips to his forehead. The time, the damage done, every single detail she notices gets scribbled into a thin black journal tucked in the third drawer of her nightstand, right beside the bottle of whiskey that she sips more than she should have to.

It takes her three minutes and forty seconds exactly to calm him down.

She evens out the pattern of his lungs, counting his exhales and inhales into his ear when he grasps her tighter.

Once she feels his body calming, she leans back slightly to find his eyes. “Hi, babe,” she whispers, sharing a sweet kiss and stroking his drying tears with her thumb. “Rough day?”

He bitterly chuckles in response, his bloody limb signaling off to the broken picture frame. “Our wedding photo is ruined.”

She purses her lips, her fingers tenderly grabbing his hand so she can examine his injury. “We have other frames, other copies.” She rises from the ground, padding over to the linen closet a few feet away so she can snatch the spare first aid kit. “What’s important is that you’re in one piece, Huckleberry. A little battered and bruised, but you’re lucky I have a thing for bad boys.” She easily bandages up his wound after cleaning it, a routine that she shouldn’t be used to.

“The coffee table is ruined. There’s glass in the kitchen. I ruined it all. I broke it all. I’m getting worse.”

She informs him that she saw, assuring that she can take care of it. “It’ll be alright, Lucas. It’s just things. Silly little things that we can fix or replace. We’ll call your doctor in the morning and move your appointment to this week.”

He hates how casually the words fall from her lips.

“You talked to your dad today?” she asks, shuffling to close the small kit so that she can start piecing their living room back together.

It’s about his dad, it always is. His prick of a father that beat his mother. His prick of a father that roared at him as a child. His prick of a father that returned to his life a few years ago before Lucas lost his grip on his temper again, making his son feel as tiny as an ant when he screams how little he is making of himself.

“Maya…” He says in a small voice. “I’m scared.”

She sighs at his admission, trying her best to keep the mood light as possible. “Babe, I-”

“I’m so scared. Of this… myself… you…”

Her eyebrows bunch at his last word, a puzzled look falling on her face. “Me? Why would you be scared of me?” Her heart wretches at the broken look in his eyes when he speaks.

“Because I can look you in the eyes and tell you honestly that I’m not okay. I tell you things that I can’t even tell myself.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID:  
> imagine maya coming home after a really long day and walking over to lucas without saying a word and sits on his lap and curls up into him and he asks her if she wants to talk about it and she shakes her head no and then he asks if she wants him to read her a story and she perks up and asks 'with the voices?' and that's how twenty minutes later lucas ends up with maya passed out and softly snoring at 8 o'clock on a wednesday

On days that she has an especially long day at work, she wordlessly bursts into their foyer, her jacket and purse slumping off of her body before she locks the door behind her. He doesn’t even have to ask to know what’s going on; why her face is scrunched up and her bottom lip is jutted out farther than normal. He just takes note of the coffee stain near the hem of her bottom shirt and the way she slammed her keys from her hands like they were burning because her car was making the ugly noise in the engine again and there’s paint covering her nicest pair of jeans because she’d forgotten her lesson plan for the second graders she had this morning and she’s arriving at six thirty instead of four like usual because she had to completely reorganize her dinky supply cabinet because the fucking shelf slipped off again. (There’s rust on the sleeves of her sweatshirt, and he plans on calling the principal tomorrow to ask when a convenient time would be to stop by so he can fix it for her for the sixth time this semester.)

Lucas can slowly see her eyes crumbling into little fractions of melancholy as she strips of her stained clothing and drags her feet to the bedroom, returning a few moments later with one of his shirts hung loosely around her body. She moves swiftly to find him on the couch, and when she slides into his lap with a soft sigh, his hands tuck the chunk of the hair hanging in front of her eyes like a curtain behind her ear so that he can press his lips softly to her forehead. 

“Wednesdays suck,” she huffs out, curling her body against his even more so that her head can fit perfectly right under his chin. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asks, his fingertips finding the structure of her spine to trace it softly. She shakes her head, mumbling against his pulse that she wants Wednesdays to just fucking disappear- to get boiled in toxic acid, sizzling away with shitty cars and shitty paint that leaves shitty stains and shitty cabinets with shitty screws that decide to fall apart on fucking shitty Wednesdays, the shittiest thing on that damn list. 

He chuckles at her bitter rambling, the hand not on her back gliding over to her outer thigh. He skims the hem of the shirt covering her before running his fingertips up and down the top of her leg. “Do you want me to read you a story?” 

Her head perks up, leaning back to blink at him with wide, hopeful eyes before whispering out eagerly, “With the voices?” 

And he gives in- of course, he gives in- because she loves the voices, and so he nods and he carries her into their bedroom before he plucks Hop On Pop from the drawer of their nightstand and she cuddles up to his side. 

(He doesn’t even make it to page 5 before she’s softly snoring into his chest, one of her hands balling into his shirt. His eyes wander to her left hand, those fingers splayed loosely on a pillow behind them and he can hear the engagement ring that he has tucked beneath his boxers rattling in the box, dying to be worn by the girl that’s held his heart since the moment her laughter rang through his ears. 

He notices her grip, one that makes it seem like he’s all she needs in this world, and his mind can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he is.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID:  
> write lucaya getting locked in topangas

“You just _had_ to convince me that waiting out the blizzard with Netflix was a great idea, didn’t you, Huckleberry?” Maya groans as she stares out of the entrance to Topanga’s, the staircase to the streets already hidden after only a few hours of snowfall. They’d decided to help out by closing up the bakery so that Topanga could leave early to set up for the Matthews’ annual New Year’s bash, unknowingly sealing their fate of being trapped probably all night without any way of contacting anyone.

“Maya… that was _your_ idea…” Lucas mutters, his hand finding the small of her back as he leans over her to check the status of their imprisonment.

“That’s not the point. The point is that it’s cold, we’re stuck, and our phones died before we could finish that episode of Cupcake Wars.” He chuckles at the tiny pout, leading her back towards the couch they had cuddled up on for their marathon.

“It doesn’t even matter, we both know that-”

“If you say Susan wins then I’m going to disown you because we both know that her butter pecan turnover cupcake was way too dry with watery frosting that second round and it looked like shit,” she fires out with a determined look.

His mouth zips shut, hands flying in the air in surrender. “Well, for a topic so sweet, I’ve never heard you any more bitter.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one where maya wants the world for everyone but herself and lucas has always just wanted her to be happy

When she is seventeen, her father is found dead in an alley three thousand miles away, and she feels like one of the bullets that punctured his lungs might as well have wounded her the same because all of her oxygen drains at word of his attack. It's a brutal murder, suspected foul play involving drug lords distastefully handling an unpaid debt, and Maya listens to every single detail as if it makes a difference to her or it's going to make any sort of improvement to the crippling weight of her emotions. 

(It doesn't and it won't.) 

Lucas is the first one to see her after the funeral. They'd held it in New York, only an hour or so away in his hometown, and Katy claims it was a wonderful service. So many people came that the church was packed like a can of sardines, she had told him. 

Lucas isn’t even actually sure what to do when he finds Maya on his bed on that Tuesday night, one of her mother’s fuller bottles of whisky being rocked in front of her eyes in a trance, and he's always known what to do with her. Ever since they'd become best friends their freshman year, he's known what to do with her, but with the circumstances, he’s at a loss. 

She’s quite the mess, even more so than he thought she would be after Riley wondered aloud if it's better that her father isn’t around to  _ canoodle with any more criminals _ or Farkle asked why she even cares what his heart rate is or isn't because he abandoned her, and so it makes sense that he assumes Maya would drink herself into an oblivion- but she didn't. 

He's unsure if it's better or worse that she's sober when he skims his sight over her knuckles going white, clinging to the liquor like it’s all that she knows. 

“I can't bring myself to actually drink it,” she chuckles harshly, tossing the bottle onto his mattress. “I thought that it would help with everything going on and then some, so I snatched it as quickly as I could, and I ran without a destination in mind, and then I find myself in your bed without as much as a buzz. Aren't you one lucky cowboy?”

He sits beside her, still cautious to dare to reach out, and he sighs in relief when her weight falls against him, a sense of comfort settling in as her head lulls against his shoulder. 

“Y’know, when I was little, I used to cry for him,” Maya shares in a small voice. “My mom used to have to hold me while I asked why he wasn't home with us, over and over and over again until she started to cry, too. I can remember listening to her leave him voicemails. She’d leave them for his friends and my grandparents and anyone that could get them to him that his baby girl just wanted to tell him goodnight. She would ask if he was proud to make a six year old girl cry herself to sleep, and, one day, he picked up. He answered his phone, and he whispered that he wasn't, and then he changed his number.

“I tried not to think about him after that. He was living his life, I could live mine, we would both be fine, y’know? But I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop myself, and I tracked him down and I called him. It was roughly a year ago, but I needed to know why he couldn't love me. I needed to know why I wasn't enough for him, and he told me that he had a new wife and two beautiful children, a boy and a girl.” She glances up, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “He even named his daughter after me; Persephone Maya _ , _ they called her, and I thought that Persephone was a horrible name for a child. He said that he had cleaned himself up, gotten a job, married a wonderful woman. He was making an honest name for himself, and I didn't tell a soul about it because the topic had died. My deadbeat dad wasn't gossip anymore, so who would care?” 

“I would,” Lucas interrupts, his hand sliding to hers and squeezing it. “I’ll always care, Maya.” 

“Yeah, okay,” she snorts, “until you don't. Until I'm not important enough. Until you marry a wonderful woman, have two beautiful children, and make an honest name for yourself before you fuck up and land yourself in a body bag. And then you leave them, too. You leave your wife and your kids and you break the promise that you made that you'd take care of them. You  said that you would love them and you would never leave them, never in a million years would you make them feel worthless and less than amazing, but you do.” 

As her words go on, her voice grows weaker. It cracks near the end, and Lucas can see the tears slipping from her cheeks when she mentions promises. 

“All I asked is that he would never leave them.” She tilts her head to meet his green eyes, sobs bubbling in the back of her throat. “I had him swear to me that he would keep his honest name, and he would make a wonderful life for his family. He'd go to their recitals and take them to museums and tuck them in every night with a kiss. He’d stay clean, do none of the things he did when he was with my mom; he  _ promised  _ he'd stay clean for them, and he  _ lied  _ to me.” 

His arm swings open just in time for her to fall into it, tucking her head against his chest as she struggled to even out her breaths. “I don't want them to feel like I did, Lucas. I don't want  _ anyone _ to  _ ever _ feel like that.” 

He kisses the top of her head, muttering that he knows she doesn't and that he’s got her now- of course, he does. 

He always will. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ANONYMOUS SAID:  
> would you be willing to write a short little continuation of "I'll look at you whenever I want to look at you huckleberry" with Lucas kissing Maya in front of everybody in someway ??? pls!! maybe have it up by tonight??? it can be sloppy and short I just need it somehow!

It’s all a blur, if you ask him.

“I’ll look at you whenever I want to look at you, Huckleberry,” she declares, tugging him by the front of his shirt so that they’re standing face to face.

He doesn’t even know how he manages to lean close enough that their lips connect considering the distance she’s making sure to keep between them after an anxious glance Riley’s way, but he does, and, fuck, is he glad for that. There’s a collective gasp from their group, and he can hear a tiny cheer from Zay somewhere to his right, but when her fist eases and turns to her palm flat on his chest while her other hand travels towards the back of his neck, the entire world melts away. His arms wrap around her waist, closing any space between them and he knows it’s early, but his life is complete.

With the realization of exactly what’s going in, Maya uses all her strength to stumble back from him. Her cheeks are flushed and lips swollen as she stares up with wide eyes, fumbling for a response to what he just did. “I- uh… Lucas? You- I…Oh boy.”

He attempts to step forward, but she only moves farther away with her brows bunched in confusion.

“I.. Lucas, you just… did you mean to? Uh? Riley?” Maya peeks her head around his shoulder towards her best friend, hoping she has some type of answer, but she only receives a blank stare. “Oh boy.”

“Maya?” Lucas asks softly, his arm reaching out as if she were an injured animal.

“Oh boy!” she repeats in the form of a yelp, spinning her body around in a panic and covering her face when in the opposite direction. “Don’t look at me.”

He smirks at this, wasting no time in finding a place in front of her shaking hands and tenderly wrapping his fingers around her wrists so that she is forced to acknowledge him. “I’ll look at you whenever I want to look at you, Shortstack.”


End file.
